


go west

by owlvsdove



Series: runaways au [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Multi, Runaways AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No turning back now. They might as well make the most of what they’ve got."</p>
<p>So it turns out their parents are evil. Like, supervillain evil. But they aren't interested in following in their footsteps. The only thing Ward, Skye, Jemma, and Fitz can do now is run. Run, and try to be better. </p>
<p>[Runaways AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. go west

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm bringing this over from [tumblr](http://jemmmasimmmons.tumblr.com/runawaysaos). There may be some small edits from the original, but nothing substantial.
> 
> For anyone who doesn't know, this is an AU based on a series of comics called Runaways which has the same premise: a group of kids find out their parents are villains, runaway from home, and try to be heroes. It's a really good series, much better than this one, so please go read it if you're into this.

 

They’re leaving the city in flames.

The smoke is trying to follow them, billowing alongside the tires, propelled forward by their own motion, but they leave that behind soon enough as well.

Ward can feel his face stuck in an expression of tense panic, but he can’t change it. It’s the only emotion he can express without losing control of the damn van. Everyone else is crying, whether they realize it or not.

He spares a moment to look in the rearview at the backseat; he had basically thrown Fitz in without any warning – there hadn’t been time for that – but he seems to be physically okay, so he refocuses on the dark stretch of road.

He isn’t worried about speeding. The police are otherwise occupied.

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s the oldest now; he should know what to do.

The highway thrum is rhythmic, the kind of white noise he needs to pull himself together. The things they’ve left behind are the fragmenting kind, the kind of things that make you burst on impact. But he’s still driving, and Skye’s still in the passenger seat, and Fitz and Jemma are still in the back, and they’re all still breathing.

“Pull over,” Skye says weakly.

“We can’t,” he spits.

“Pull over,” she insists, and the streak of emotion cutting her voice is a force of will rather than a request.

He pulls onto the shoulder quickly but before the car has stopped rolling all the way she has the door open and is unbuckling her seatbelt. She falls out of the car ungracefully, bends over, and vomits spectacularly. By the time Jemma gets out to hold her hair back everything’s out of her, and it’s just dry heaving, and then it’s just sobs.

Ward lets his head fall back against the seat and his eyes close. They are unequipped to handle any of this. But there is no  _give up and quit_ , no  _better luck next time_. This is all they have now.

The girls climb back into the car slowly. Skye’s eyes are wild but finally dry as she stares into the night in front of them.

“So,” Fitz says bleakly. “Just to be clear on what’s happened: our parents are the worst people alive. They destroyed New York City. They’re probably in jail now. And we’re on the run.”

“Yeah,” Ward responds.

“Just wanted to make sure I got all of that.”

“What happens now?” Skye asks dully. “What do we do?”

It’s the question Ward has been dreading ever since they all came together. He doesn't know these kids very well (and he has to call them kids, they look so small and sad in the face of this crisis), but he has the undeniable urge to fix everything - or at least to stop anyone else from taking a shot at them. If he has anything to offer them, he will offer them protection.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “All I know is that we’re going to be okay.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Jemma asks, not accusing, but looking for genuine evidence.

“Because I’m going to make sure of it.” He catches each of their gazes in the rearview, and then Skye’s in the passenger seat.

“We can never go back to New York again,” Skye says softly.

“Only way to go is west,” Ward responds.

He pulls back onto the highway and guns it. No turning back now. They might as well make the most of what they’ve got.

 


	2. petty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The van, when they half-borrowed half-stole it, had a quarter tank of gas. That only gets you so far.

 

They all have their roles. Some are happier about it than others.

“Do everything you can in five minutes, and then we’re gone. Got it?” Ward asks, twisting from the drivers seat to face the huddle. They nod. Skye swallows the urge to stick her hand in the center and yell  _break_.

The van, when they half-borrowed half-stole it, had a quarter tank of gas. That only gets you so far. This gas station is somewhere in the bowels of rural Pennsylvania, completely undisturbed by anyone except themselves.

All it takes a kick from Fitz and the gas pump spits out at full force while the dial betrays nothing. It’s a subtle art, manipulating machinery. Honestly, the kick is just for show, so he can lean against the pump coolly afterwards and try and make Jemma blush. Instead she just looks worried.

Ward is stalking around the parking lot, looking for New York state license plates. Once he finds one, he pulls a minikit out of his back pocket and tries not to feel cool about it. He swaps out the stolen one for theirs, unscrewing efficiently. He’ll feel sorry for a moment for the owner of this SUV who will probably be pulled over sometime in the next twenty-four hours, but they need the cover. Ward is certain that SHIELD will have no trouble narrowing down the options and chasing down leads when the smoke of New York clears.  They’ll have to keep switching until they find a place to stop, but this should buy them some time.

Skye is inside the convenience store, innocently browsing. Of course, it’s not really that innocent. They had pulled out all the cash they could outside of city limits and ditched their cards, but it’s a precious commodity, one they need to save for the next dire crisis. Skye’s favorite discount is the five-finger one, anyway. She’s kind of a sleight-of-hand savant. Bags of chips, energy bars, candy? Pants-pocket, underneath Ward’s big hoodie, in her oversized bag. She chooses to think of it as a game. Otherwise it’s kind of awful how much she enjoys it.

Jemma is the displeased one. She’s probably the person least-suited to be the winsome distraction, but she’s  _definitely_  not the one to steal, whether it be petrol or Snicker’s bars. She’s asked the man at the counter every possible thing she can about cigarettes. What type should she get, how much do each of them cost, what does it feel like to smoke, is it difficult, and will she actually get lung cancer? She feels vapid, and probably seems manic, but it’s the only way to get the man to stay behind the counter while Skye does her thing. When the man offers to take her out back and show her how it’s done, she pulls the plug, twisting her hair around her finger, saying she’s changed her mind. Then she grabs Skye’s arm and hauls her out of the store.

As they walk back to the car (and they do it slowly, because Skye has a lot of food stuffed up her sleeves) Jemma starts to whisper. 

“This is so wrong.”

“I know,” Skye says tiredly.

“I know we have no other choice, but it’s still wrong.”

“I know, Jem.”

“I’m going to make a list. A list of every place we’ve stolen from.”

“To make it easier for the cops when they pick us up?” Skye deadpans as Jemma opens the trunk.

“No, so that when we’re better we can pay them back.”

Jemma watches as Skye climbs in and starts to shake herself out. Treats fall like plagues on the floor.

“That’s adorable. And you should do that, if it helps you sleep at night.”

“I intend to,” Jemma says primly.

Ward jogs up to them, looking a little smug.

“Did you get me Twizzlers?” He asks.

Skye rolls her eyes and pulls them out of the waistband of her pants. “Weirdo. Who the fuck requests Twizzlers?” She tosses them directly at his face but he catches them.

“What do you have there?” Jemma asks, looking at the plate in his hand.

“I’m switching out the license plates so it’s harder to identify us.”

“ _That’s_  what you were doing?” Skye says, crawling back towards them.

“Yeah.”

“We’re driving a giant blue creeper van.”

“So?”

“So we kind of stick out. Why is the license plate going to make a difference?”

Ward stares for a minute.

“…It  _might_.”

The two girls give him disbelieving looks, Skye’s ruthless and Jemma’s pitying.

“Whatever,” he says gruffly. “It’s your dumb van, anyway.”

Skye climbs out of the back with a frown. “Yeah, it is, and only I get to call it names.” Then she kicks him in the shin. “Got it?”

“Got it,” he mutters as she walks away.

“Oi!” Fitz shouts, climbing into the van from the other side. “Let’s get a move on!”

Ward tries to bust his top. Jemma offers him a sympathetic smile and they shut the backdoors together.

“Let’s go.”

 


	3. role call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With great power comes a ton of weird crap you’re not prepared to deal with.

 

“I don’t believe you.”

“There’s one way to find out,” Ward says and it’s the most relaxed he’s felt in a while, considering Skye is pointing a gun at him.

Her face is spunky and challenging, but he doesn’t think he’s wrong when he notes a tinge of apprehension.

“Well, where do you want it?” She asks.

“I don’t  _want_ it anywhere, but Fitz here is calling me a liar. I have to set him straight.”

“I’m not calling you a liar,” Fitz calls from off to the side. “I’m just saying I don’t believe you.”

“Where exactly is the distinction between those two things?” Jemma jeers.

Fitz has no answer to that, and they laugh.

“Just aim for a leg,” Ward says.

Skye squints as she takes aim. “Ready?”

“Ye—”

“BANG,” Skye shrieks over the roar of the gunshot, and Ward goes down with a grunt.

The three of them approach him cautiously. “It’s alright,” he says, panting. “Come here.” The trio kneels down to watch as Ward digs the bullet out of it’s shallow wound. It heals in a matter of seconds.

“That is…” Fitz starts.

“Incredible.” Jemma finishes.

Ward shrugs. He wipes his bloody hand on the grass. “It’s not infallible.”

“How have you been hurt enough to even know that?” Skye says unthinkingly, before realizing that it is a huge mistake. But his response is a lot easier than she expects.

“I’ve been hurt,” Ward says seriously. “Trust me.”

Skye looks for a way to take the focus off of Ward, feeling bad. “Is it my turn?” She asks.

“Let’s see it,” Ward says, pulling a Twizzler from the pack in his coat pocket and yanking on it with his teeth.

She turns away from them, readying her stance. “Okay,” but she does nothing.

Fitz leans sideways towards Jemma. “Is she doing it?” he murmurs.

“Are you alright, Skye?” Jemma asks.

“Listen, I don’t have a lot of practice, okay? I didn’t even know I was half-alien until, like, last week.”

“That’s okay,” Ward says, “You don’t have to show—”

But he’s interrupted by a photon blast to a nearby tree. It sets ablaze.

The four stare in horror.

“Shit.”

“That was an accident, right?” Jemma asks, eyebrow raised.

“I mean I wasn’t  _trying_  to set it on fire, no,” Skye says, looking from her hands to the tree and back. “We should probably run.”

“I thought only we could prevent forest fires!” Jemma protests.

“It’s a public park,” Ward says, still staring at the tree. “Someone will notice, which means we need to leave.”

“But—” Jemma starts again, but Fitz places a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“Hold on. I think I can fix this,” Fitz says, and he starts to look around appraisingly. “We might want to get off the grass.”

Ward and Skye exchange looks before the four of them scramble away from the tree. Once they’re safely on the pavement, the sprinklers come on, pitifully dripping on the grass.

“Wow, good work, Fitz,” Ward deadpans.

“Wait for it,” he responds, and suddenly the water is shooting straight up in the air and into the tree.

“What, are you a waterbender now?” Skye asks.

“No, I’m actually controlling the sprinkler mechanism which is governed by a series of switches and pipes that—”

“Okay. Stop. I don’t care that much. But thanks,” she responds, half-rude half-grateful.

They watch silently for a while as the tree settles and starts to smoke.

“We should still get out of here,” Ward says.

They walk contentedly back to the van, parked alone in the barren lot.

Jemma opens the double doors in the back and they pile on the lip of the trunk, thigh to thigh, letting their legs dangle over as they stare out onto the pavement sea in friendly silence.

“We still haven’t seen your powers, Jemma,” Skye says after a while.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jemma stare down at her knees.

“That’s because I don’t have any,” she says quietly.

“Oh,” is all Skye can think of saying.

Jemma can feel Fitz’s eyes on her.

“Nobody’s going to make you do it,” he says quietly, and her head turns violently towards him in surprise, ponytail swinging recklessly.

She stares at him for a moment, and he glimpses wild terror in her eyes. “I forgot that you saw that,” she whispers after a moment.

“Guys?” Ward probes.

“You have powers,” Skye says gently, looking for confirmation. Jemma nods. “But you don’t like to use them?”

“I don’t use them,” she responds fiercely, and the fire in her eyes startles Skye back a little bit. “Ever. I’d be better off without them.”

“What kind of powers could be that bad?” Ward asks slowly, afraid of the answer.

She looks so hesitant, so exquisitely pained to let the words out. “I can control people with my mind.”

Nobody’s quite sure what to say for a while. Ward is thinking of all the ways that this skill could be useful. Skye is wondering what could have made her detest her powers so much. And Fitz is remembering.

“Is it really so bad?” Skye asks finally.

None of them have realized, lost in their own thoughts, that Jemma is crying now; she is so utterly silent until she is forced to open her mouth to speak, a loud gasp of breath escaping before she can respond: “Yes.” And then she closes her mouth again, afraid to let anything else out.

“Okay,” Ward says. “That’s that, then.” His ending is a little lame, but they all get the gist: nobody wants to see Jemma cry, so it will not be brought up again.

Of course, life hardly ever works according to plan. No matter how many times you say something, it doesn’t make it true. They are four of the best suited people in the world to know that. So the finality in Ward’s words is a promise for them to do their best. That’s all they can promise each other, anyway.

Ward hops up after a while to get in the driver’s seat, mumbling about getting on the road for the night, and Skye follows.

Fitz looks to Jemma, who is still squished into his side as though the other two are still there. He flips his hand over on his knee, so his palm is up, open, waiting for her. She laces her fingers through his for a brief moment, squeezing hard. She lets go just as forcefully, leaving him in the trunk to watch her walk away.

He allows himself a sigh before he follows.

 


	4. cuddle bunny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ward needs to learn how to cuddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of abuse.

 

Ward only dreams of one thing.

Honestly, he hadn’t really thought out the details of how they would sleep. When they first got the hell out of dodge, he was more than content to drive for hours to get them as far as possible while the other three slept. But the third time they swerved lazily onto the shoulder had sent Skye, Fitz, and Jemma into a frenzy of chatter, like a squawking flock of baby ducks, insisting he rest.

They start to take turns, with the intention that Ward would sleep while the others would drive; but when he tries it’s always the kind of weak and aimless sleep that bobs like a boat on choppy waters in and out of wakefulness.

Plus he comes out of it grumpy as all hell, according to Skye, who sits in the passenger seat to badger him.

“We should just pull over somewhere and all sleep at the same time,” Skye says, argument well-paved with use.

He’s tired of hearing it.

“We don’t have time to waste,” he says, jaw clenched in effort not to yell at her.

“It’s not a waste, especially if it saves us all from you running us off the road.”

“I  _won’t_ —”

“Are you afraid of cuddling?” She asks suddenly. “Is that it? Don’t worry, it’s fun.”

He gives her a flagrantly disbelieving look. “How would you know that? What are you, thirteen?”

“I’m sixteen, and you’re a dick.”

“Well—”

“Shut up, we’re done arguing now. You haven’t realized it yet, but I’m right. So I’ll let you realize that I’m right in peace, and when it gets dark you’ll pull over and we’ll all have a real night’s sleep.”

She sounds ridiculous. She also miscalculates what  _peace_  means to him and flips the radio on. He’s not sure if he’s actually retaining any dignity with Britney Spears blaring, but he stays quiet and numbly does what she says.

Which is how they’re in this situation now.

 

 

 

It’s the desperate writhing that wakes Skye up, but the thing that terrifies her is that he isn’t making a sound.

“Ward?” She whispers. He is shaking violently, sweating bullets, face clenched tight in the same expression of distress she’d seen on his face the day they fled town. She sits up, sees Jemma on his other side wide-eyed and awake, watching anxiously.

Skye knows Ward doesn’t like to be touched, remembers from the hundreds of times over the last few days he’s told her to quit poking him, but he has to be woken up so she pries his balled fist open, blooming unwillingly, and then locks her fingers in his.

“Ward,” she says louder.

Ward, for his part, can feel her hand and hear her voice, but his subconscious attributes it to something incalculably more hellish. He doesn’t know why his little brother isn’t calling him Grant, or how he can someone reach his hand from opposite sides of the barn where they’re shackled up. He’s got the same terrified look as the last time Ward saw him, though, and he thrashes against the restraints even more desperately.

“Ward!” Skye shouts again, and his eyes burst open. He can hear their voices next to them but his eyes are very slow in losing their blindness. His heart is thrashing around in his chest. Finally, a sliver of Skye’s face eclipses his view of the van ceiling. He wrenches his hand out of hers, turns, pops the doors open and crawls out, shriveling and ungrateful and deaf to any pleas coming his way. He stalks into the forest and doesn’t breathe until he’s surrounded by cool air and tall trees.

“Wha’s happening?” Fitz asks sleepily, squinting at the open doors, finally awake.

“Ward had a nightmare and then ran away,” Jemma says simply, evenly. 

“Needs to learn how to cuddle,” Fitz says, rolling over and falling silent. Jemma stares hard at his back for a long moment before laying back down next to him, face up to stare at the ceiling.

Skye stays seated, arms around her knees tightly, eyes watching the line of trees. She tries not to feel offended.

She peeks at the two laying down, Jemma still staring up, biting her lip, and Fitz curled up, sighing too much to be actually asleep. She wonders if this will ever work, or if they’re just biding their time before their arrested or detained or taken out.

 

 

 

Ward runs his hand over the bark of the tree, craving texture, rubbing away what’s left of nightmare and memory. Skye’s hand is too soft. He wants to keep walking, to delve deeper into the shade, but he feels guilty.

“God  _damn_  it,” he mutters, and turns back for the van.

He ends up startling them. Skye is lost in her anxious thoughts and visibly jerks at his sudden presence.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Get in,” Jemma says instantly. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“It’s okay,” Skye murmurs, late to respond.

He nods at her and then follows Jemma's orders.

“You need to learn to cuddle,” Fitz repeats, rolling over to face Jemma and the rest of the group.

Ward stares at the ceiling. “What the fuck is your obsession with cuddling? All of you.”

“Keeps the nightmares away,” Jemma murmurs, and Ward looks over to see Fitz’s eyes slide down to her face.

“Alright. Whatever,” Ward grumbles after a moment. He’s stuck with these kids. He’ll acquiesce.

“ _Yes_ ,” Fitz triumphs, smushing closer to Jemma and pushing her half on Ward. Surprisingly, Jemma giggles.

Skye is a little slower to agree, but after a moment she snakes an arm around Ward and snuggles up to his shoulder.

Ward takes a few deep breaths and adjusts to the feeling of people holding him free of expectations. And that feeling sinks him back into sleep.

 


	5. bonding ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs a shower and a hot meal.

 

A campground in Colorado is the first shower they get in days.

Honestly, Jemma is the most excited. Yes, the urgency of fleeing distracts from the most basic human needs, all adrenaline and panic. But she craves cleanliness. All the shared experience and secrets she’s told this week are clinging to her skin like pigment, coloring her with shame. She needs a moment to herself, a moment where no one is looking at her.

Fitz tends to look at her a lot.

She skips into the bathroom, Skye trailing behind.

“You seem chipper,” Skye says, stripping off her shirt and turning on the sink.

“I am. You seem…less chipper.”

“Last night was a little…intense.”

Jemma searches her face for a moment, then nods.

“We’re a team now, the four of us, right?” Skye asks.

Jemma thinks for a moment. “Well, we were supposed to take their place, right? The Pride. Our parents thought we’d end up a team, at least.”

“They didn’t think it would be like this, though,” Skye muttered. “All of us on the run from them. All of us with superpowers and tragic backstories.”

“You’ve probably had the biggest shock out of all of us, Skye. It’s okay to be unsettled by it.”

Skye isn’t surprised by Jemma’s ability to mother her, but she is surprised by how good it feels.

“We are a team now. And we’re all going to take care of each other,” Jemma finishes.

Skye smiles for the first time, Jemma thinks, since before Ward’s nightmare.

“You can go first, clean freak. Toss your clothes over.”

Jemma smiles again, grateful. She hops happily into the stall.

 

 

 

Ward side-eyes Fitz from outside of the ramshackle building where they are standing guard.

“You’re thinking about them in the shower together, aren’t you?”

“Are you  _not_?”

“No,” Ward growls, annoyed.

“I know objectifying people is wrong,” Fitz says. “I’m not a monster.”

“They’re our family now,” Ward says sternly, staring forward into the darkness.

“I know that, too,” Fitz says, voice softer.

There is a beat of silence, and then: “You have a crush on Jemma.”

“So?” Fitz says. “I mean,  _no_. No, I don’t.”

Ward sighs.

“Listen, you don’t have to worry about that,” Fitz says, deciding on his own to give up. “I won’t do anything to mess this up.”

Ward looks at him now and sees a kind of seriousness that hadn’t overtaken him even in their last moments in New York. Ward remembers suddenly the deathly quiet kid with a wild mop and constantly scraped knees, watching passively, when the group of them were forced together as children.

“I trust you,” Ward says. And it is just the last in a long series of unintentional admissions he’s made in the last few days, whether out loud or in his head.

“Good,” Fitz responds. And he says the words to make them true: “I trust you, too.”

 

 

 

“Shall we eat?” Jemma asks, once the boys have stepped out of the ramshackle bathroom and they’re heading back to the car.

“We’re out of food,” Skye says.

Fitz perks up. “There was a diner a couple miles back, we could—?”

“I don’t want to go back,” Ward says, stern.

“It’s only a few miles,” Skye said. Ward frowns, so she rolls her eyes. “How about we take a vote?”

“Since when is this a democracy?” Ward grumbles.

“Since when is it not?” Jemma says with an eyebrow raised.

“You’re British.”

“We’re  _familiar with the concept_.”

“ _All in favor_ ,” Skye starts pointedly, “of taking one night off from teen runaway hell to pretend for a small moment that we’re normal teenagers out for a night of relaxation and fun, raise your hand.”

Unsurprisingly, the youngest three raise their hands. Ward squints. Fitz might be turning on some puppy dog eyes too. Ward fights the urge to cross his arms and pout.

“Fine.”

 

 

 

It feels weird to be sitting here, Fitz thinks. He was never much of a social butterfly, but he knows people do this - go out to dinner. Make conversation. Have fun.

Jemma’s laughing in the booth next to him at some joke Skye made at Ward’s expense, locks of hair shaking along with her joy. Ward is doing that manly pout thing he always does. Fitz is of the opinion that Ward secretly likes it, but he’ll never say that out loud.

Fitz keeps quiet like he always does and ties knots in straw wrappers, enjoying the feel of them. He doesn’t notice when Skye abandons them for the jukebox, or when Ward follows.

Jemma bumps shoulders with him.

“Alright?”

He feels like his eyes are magnets, designed to be compelled by hers.

“It’s just a bit weird,” he says. “Having friends.”

He winces. He couldn’t sound lamer if he tried.

“You’ve always had friends.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t believe her.

“I’ve always thought of you as my friend,” she says. He looks up at her. “Ever since we were little kids.”

He takes in a big breath and holds it in his chest, like it’s going to keep him afloat.

“Jemma, they…they wanted us all to be together. We’re all friends now because they made us grow up together. Do you really think we would choose each other if the circumstances were different?”

Her face is poised on the precipice of a smile. “Yes. Yeah, I’m certain we would.” His eyes go wide, but she continues. “I can feel your brain, Fitz.”

His eyes go even wider; she realizes what she said and splutters. “Not!  _No_. I mean. I can’t read your mind. I can just feel it, in my head. I mean, I can feel everybody’s. But,” and she smiles faintly a bit, “Yours is special.”

He feels baffled by the notion that she could find him extraordinary.

“I’m just saying,” she continues when he doesn’t speak up, “I think I would still want to be your friend. Even if our parents weren’t supervillains.”

“Yeah?” his voice sounds weak, too pleased. But he can’t help the quirking of his lips. She’s remarkable.

She nods eagerly. “Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

They’re silent for a moment. It looks a bit like she’s trying to use a swoop of her hair to hide the profile of her face, but he can still see her biting her lip.

“Oh! I would want to be your friend, too,” he hurries to say, rubbing his neck.

She looks at him for a long moment, like maybe she doesn’t believe him, so he continues: “Really. You’re, uh, good. Really good.”

She’s watching him and he wants to shrink. Her eyes are glittering and potent.

“Thanks,” she says finally. She’s still biting her lip, like she doesn’t want to smile.

Skye and Ward return just in time for pancakes, with an old disco song on their heels. They eat and laugh and Fitz thinks that Skye was right; they deserved a night off. They had only been on the road for a few days but their lives had been just as unsatisfying. Just as heartbreaking. Same shit, different pot.

Later, while Skye and Ward loudly argue over the fact that Ward tried to order a protein shake at a diner  _like who does that, really_ , he and Jemma sidle up to the jukebox. He flips through the little song-listing placards with his eyes instead of the button, and she leans over, watching.

“Freaky,” she says with a grin, and he wonders how he’s supposed to not find that charming. Her chin is so close to resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t know how to make it happen. 

So instead she watches. He tells her it’s her choice, and she stops him at that old Oasis song, the famous one. It’s a little bit funny and a little bit fitting so he starts it up; and he tries not to stare as she leads him back to the table, back to the van, to wherever they’re going next.

 


	6. ebb and flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is it."
> 
> "We went west."
> 
> "As far west as possible."

 

It is just barely hinting at dawn; the sun is hiding but still casting everything in pink like a tease. It is just  _barely_  dawn, but Ward knows they’re all awake; he spies wide eyes and silent thoughts and careful mouths in the rearview and to his right. Gently, in hushes too fine-boned to remark on, Skye directs him onto the beach, forearm supporting thin wrist pushing closed fist and outstretched finger towards the ocean. He drives slowly on the sand. He doesn’t know if that’s allowed and doesn’t bother asking. This has been a long time coming, an infinity within a few days. This morning, they are old, lived a thousand traveled lives, wandering for respite.

He drives them directly to the water’s edge and his fists tighten on the steering wheel as he presses reluctantly on the brake. The waves lap against the front wheels like the tongue of a welcoming animal, curious and gentle.

“This is it,” he says quietly.

He feels Skye’s gaze against his cheek but continues to stare out into the murky infinity.

“We went west,” she says, a little amazed.

“As far west as possible,” Fitz says.

“I can’t get us any farther away,” Ward says, and he doesn’t have the same awestruck tone as the rest of them, the same wonder as the universe seems to be suggesting.

This is the end of the line.

“That’s okay,” Jemma murmurs, always the first to comfort. “Because we’re  _away_. That’s what matters.”

“That’s all that matters,” Skye repeats.

“Come on, then,” Jemma says excitedly. “Let’s say hello.”

She opens the door and tumbles out of the car. Fitz slides over to her seat and goes out her door instead of his own, following quickly. Skye gives Ward another glance before she gets out.

Ward lets his hands loosen from the wheel, inch by inch, until he can breathe again. Then he follows them.

The sun is blazing as they watch it come into view, slowly but surely. They are suspended in technicolored reality, and all is bewitching for a brief moment.

They are brave against the winds, against the burn. They are ready to start.

 

 

 

In a classified location on the other side of the world, Agent Phil Coulson appraises four faces.

“They’re only kids,” he says, to what looks like nobody. But he can feel May as she enters the room, stops a bit behind him.

“True. But they’re the last remaining children of a group of supervillains,” she replies, but there is a inch of humor in her subtle voice.

“And their first instinct was to run.”

“I don’t blame them,” May says evenly. “According to intel? Both Grant Ward and Jemma Simmons have had their powers abused by their parents since birth. This one, Leopold Fitz? According to his psych eval has been neglected since his mother died. And his powers are malnourished at best. And the one known as Skye is the 0-8-4 that slipped out of our fingers and into the wrong hands so many years ago.”

“That’s a pretty good summary,” he quips.

May doesn’t bother to say thank you.

“You want them, don’t you?” she says instead. Her voice is a little too knowing, but he doesn’t have any right to protest.

“I want them on the Index. They need guidance. If they aren’t bad yet, they could very easily fall that way.”

“And you want to be the guy that makes them good?”

“I just want them to know their options.” He turns to look at her fully now, raising an eyebrow. “You coming with me?”

The hint of a smile graces her face. “I’ve already sent the report to Fury and gassed the plane.”

And she turns, leaving him grinning.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want to help them too!” He calls after her.

She doesn’t dignify that with a response, just tosses a look over her shoulder that both snarks and beckons. He takes a long look at the pictures on the screen. Then he follows.

 


End file.
